


We will be forgotten when we're gone

by owlaholic68



Series: A bed of California stars [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Chinatown, San Francisco, Spoilers for Fallout 2, The Hubologists, The Shi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 10:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: Was I always like this?  She wonders.Was I always this angry? This bloodthirsty? This old?No.





	We will be forgotten when we're gone

Downtown Chinatown falls silent around her.

People stop and stare; they always have. But this time, it’s not because of her odd entourage: a supermutant, a badly disguised deathclaw, and a scrawny teenager are usually the focus of the town’s fascination.

This time, all eyes are on her.

Carla’s still in Brotherhood power armor. On her right hand is a sparking powerfist. Her arms are drenched in blood up to her elbows, her legs are covered up to her knees, as if she had waded through a mountain of fresh corpses.

Which she had.

Goris is at her side, covered in his rough cloak. He was relatively untouched by battle. Just his barely-visible claws were affected by the carnage. Behind him stomps Marcus, who has an arm protectively around Myron’s slim shoulders. The supermutant is visibly injured, limping slightly from a lucky shot from a Gauss rifle. Myron is whining pathetically, holding his arm. They had tried to keep him out of the battle, but one of the guards managed to slice him across the forearm with a knife. He had already been given a stimpack, so everyone just ignored his complaints.

Carla walks up to the ring in the main square. The sun is setting, the sky a bright orange from the bay. A crowd is gathered in anticipation of an exciting evening match. They silently part before her imposing presence. She drips blood: not just from her soaked armor, but from something in her left hand.

“Great news!” She shouts, though she doesn’t need to. In this silence, a whisper could be heard for miles. But she’s still hopped up on adrenaline and fury, unable to control the way her hands still shake. _Was I always like this?_  She wonders. Thinks to before:

Before she stormed into the Hubologist's bunker, armed to the teeth.

Before she even got to San Francisco.

Before, when she was drunk on success, an intact GECK in her hands. Before she had had that triumph ripped from her in front of a broken rope bridge.

Before she even left her village. Before they were all _kidnapped_ and _massacred._

She knows that answer to that question: was I always this angry? This bloodthirsty? This _old_?

No.

_My youth is something else that the Enclave took when they took my people. Any chance at a happy life for myself is gone. And, unlike my family, that’s something I can **never** get back. _

She throws something up into the ring. It lands with a sickening _plop_. It’s a severed head, eyes glassy and blank. In the crowd, parents cover their children’s eyes. There is a collective gasp from the assembled townspeople.

“The Hubologists are dead. They won’t bother you anymore.” She pronounces, then walks away.

Behind her, the crowd erupts into cheers and whoops. Family members and friends hug each other, crying tears of joy. While the Hubologists hadn’t violently terrorized the inhabitants of Chinatown, they were enough of a threat that every last person, down to the tiniest babe, wanted them gone.

Carla ignores this all and stomps towards the entrance to the Steel Palace. _I would have done this for you,_ she realizes. _I used to be like that. Rescuing children and helping restore hope wherever I could, just because I had the power to do so. But now…_ The dam she’s blocked her fear and grief behind starts to crack and crumble. Behind her helmet, she feels tears spring to her eyes. She sniffles quietly, feeling the weight of months and months of pressure and stress.   _Now, I’m so close. And this all rests on me. Me, a nineteen-year old girl from a tribal village. There’s no one else._

Carla looks back at her companions. Her loyal, wonderful friends. _When that tanker leaves the dock, I’ll be alone on it. I can’t- I **won’t** subject them to whatever fate awaits me on the Oil Rig. _

_When I do this, I’ll do it alone._

**Author's Note:**

> Work inspired by "Beautiful Machine, pts 3&4" by the Apples in Stereo. Originally supposed to be part of my [music prompts collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11101803/chapters/24771525), but ended up as it's own thing. 
> 
> Quest referenced here is [Kill the AHS-9.](http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Kill_the_AHS-9)
> 
> Myron is the most useless battle companion: he will run away, then complain endlessly about the most minor of injury. 
> 
> Come find me at my [Tumblr](https://owlaholic68.tumblr.com/) for more Fallout 2 and Fallout New Vegas content!
> 
> Now with a [moodboard.](https://owlaholic68.tumblr.com/post/163368258989/oh-dont-you-know-its-wrong-we-will-be-forgotten)


End file.
